Her Boys
by whitchry9
Summary: Written for the H/C bingo prompt: orphans. Mrs Hudson reflects on the boys who live in her flat.


Mrs Hudson couldn't deny that she had a special place in her heart for her boys.

No matter how many times she tried to deny that she was their housekeeper, she frequently found herself in their flat, dusting, or tidying up, or putting some food in the fridge. Oh, the things she found in the fridge. Eyes, and thumbs, and even a head once, and other things she didn't want to even try to figure out what they were. After the incident with the head, she had stuck to bringing things that didn't need to be refrigerated, avoiding whatever surprises might be waiting for her.

Sherlock made such a mess of that flat, and poor John... She didn't even know how John put him with living in the same flat as him. She could barely handle living in the same building. The things people do for love... He was so shy about it. But she could see the feelings they had for each other. John at least. Sometimes Mrs Hudson wondered if Sherlock had feelings at all. She stopped questioning that after she had been held hostage bu the Americans that came looking for a mobile, and Sherlock had thrown the man out of the window. Multiple times. And right on her bins too. She wished he hadn't done that. She had to go and get new ones.

But John was positively enamoured by the man. She knew why. Sherlock could be down right charming when he wanted to, and Mrs Hudson would never be too old to recognize a gorgeous face like his. He could practically be one of those Greek gods that Mrs Turner next door often went on about. Sculpted out of marble...

And she could tell Sherlock had feelings for John too. He had never lived with someone for this long.

And Sherlock went to rescue John when there was that awful business with that Chinese circus. Or maybe it wasn't a circus. She had difficulty keeping it all straight. So many adventures.

There was no doubt about it. She was proud of her boys.

One might say she was like a mother to them. A bit silly of course, Mrs Hudson had never had children. Not with that husband of hers. She wouldn't have minded children though. One or two. Something to keep her busy. But she was content with how her life turned out, and was glad she prevented that man's genes from polluting the next generation.

But she did look out for them, and they took care of her. Yes, she supposed. A bit like children would. Sometimes they were a bit mean and uncaring (never on purpose though. Sherlock had always just had difficulty with his people skills. Now if she was his mother...) And it was useful having a doctor in the house. She had always wanted a son who was a doctor. And of course, a consulting detective was impressive too, even though she had never even heard of such a thing until she the man with the funny name and curly hair who knew everything about her showed up in Florida. She still wasn't entirely sure why he was there, and every time she tried to ask, he changed the subject.

Just like children; have to have their secrets.

They both needed a motherly figure. Sherlock spoke of his 'mummy' in the past tense. Probably didn't even realize he did. John never mentioned a mother, but his father was dead. Mrs Hudson was pretty sure she was dead. It's probably what drove his sister to drinking. An orphan, and her brother's gone off to Afghanistan. It would happen to anyone.

Sherlock had never spoken a word about his father. Mrs Hudson and john were both too polite to ask, although when Sherlock was out on some of his stranger and more extravagant missions, they would exchange theories. Most of John's involved that mysterious brother of Sherlock's killing him somehow when he was a child. But they were both orphans, more or less, and Mrs Hudson saw to it that they were taken care of.

Mrs Hudson loved the times she had alone with John, eating biscuits and drinking tea while watching crap telly. Of course, she spent time alone with Sherlock too. It was different, but no less enjoyable. He would play his violin for her. He always managed to know her favourite songs, even if she had never told him. Oh, that boy could play like an angel when he wanted to. He could also make sounds like a dying cat when he wanted to, but thankfully, with John around, those times had become few and far between.

Mrs Turner often remarked that it was a strange life (of course, she could hardly judge, she had married ones), but Mrs Hudson wouldn't trade her boys for anything in the world.


End file.
